


Axioms of Celestial Bodies

by sanguinity



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Book 5: Victory of Eagles, Gen, Missing Scene, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28970616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: After treason charges and a long winter's campaign against Napoleon, a quiet night by the fire and a new copy of Newton's Principia.
Relationships: William Laurence & Temeraire
Comments: 26
Kudos: 30
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Axioms of Celestial Bodies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idelthoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/gifts).



> Set immediately before Chapter 16 of A Victory of Eagles, the last days before Wellington comes to Dover.

Those first weeks after the Battle of Shoe-buryness were strange and ephemeral: confusion and lassitude in equal measure, with no one to give orders or notice Laurence and Temeraire's coming and going from Dover. There was a quiet peace to those shapeless days that Laurence spent resting in his dragon's affection. Eventually some official would come and demand Laurence's surrender, but in the meanwhile Laurence hoarded the precious days, storing them against the unhappy future.

It was on one such quiet evening that Temeraire had Roland bring out a package for Laurence — a gift. Temeraire eagerly urged Laurence to unwrap it. Laurence knew his shabbiness embarrassed Temeraire, so he half-expected the gift to be some gleaming bit of finery, Temeraire adorning his beloved captain much as Iskierka did Granby, and Laurence, tender of his dragon's feelings, resolved to thank Temeraire prettily, however garish the gift might reveal itself to be.

To Laurence's surprise, it was only a book, the title picked out in gilt letters on its sober leathern cover.

" _Newton's Principia,_ translated by Andrew Motte," Laurence read out. "Why, it's in English," he added with some puzzlement, as he turned the pages. "Surely my Latin isn't so terrible?"

Laurence was no scholar, and had indeed struggled with the _Principia_ when he first read it to Temeraire — and not only the first time, he was chagrined to admit. While initially nonexistent, Temeraire's Latin had quickly come to exceed Laurence's, prompting such tactful comments as, "Surely that is _centro_ and not _centrum,_ Laurence? It is the radii that we are discussing, not the circle's center." Laurence had always been careful to reply, "Yes, my dear, you are quite correct, and prodigiously clever as always," causing Temeraire to preen with satisfaction and urge Laurence to continue. Temeraire had not been exactly small in those early days, but he had still been of a size that he could lay his head beside Laurence's thigh and be petted. They were good memories, infinitely precious after the darkness of the past year, and it was discomfiting to think that Laurence's shaky Latin had marred Temeraire's enjoyment of those sessions.

"Oh, no!" Temeraire was quick to reassure him. "It is only what Roland brought back from Dover for me; I daresay there was no Latin to be had. Will you read to me, Laurence?"

"And you shall criticise poor Dr Motte's translation, and point out all the ways you would have done better, I am sure," Laurence teased, but Temeraire's request had been so plaintive, there was no question of saying no. "Of course I shall, my dear. Will you make me a leg?"

"Yes, Laurence," Temeraire said meekly, with a sweetness that made Laurence ache. Temeraire laid his great bulk down, cleverly positioning the crook of his foreleg just a little bit forward of the campfire so that its light might fall past Laurence's elbow and upon the book while he read. Laurence climbed up and made himself comfortable, and Temeraire curled his neck around so that his head lay tucked inside his own forearm, his great nose within Laurence's reach. Laurence reached out to stroke those soft scales, and Temeraire sighed, his warm breath pushing back the heat of the fire.

"Read, please," Temeraire urged presently, his eyes shut fast tight, and Laurence took up the book.

"Where shall I begin?" Laurence asked. Temeraire had a particular attachment to the section about Halley's comet.

"Definitions," Temeraire said firmly, and Laurence looked up in surprise.

"Surely you must know those by heart?"

"I do," Temeraire said, and made no other explanation.

Laurence obligingly turned the page. One by one he read them out, each definition and its following elaboration: _massæ, momentum, vis insita, vis impressa._ By the time he reached _vis centripeta,_ Temeraire could be heard murmuring under his breath (which of course meant loudly enough for anyone within twenty feet to hear) a Latin echo of Laurence's English: _"…ad centrum trahitur, impellitur, vel utcunq; tendit."_

"See, you do know these by heart," Laurence accused, but there was something odd about Temeraire's accent and delivery, not his own dragonish voice at all. After a moment, Laurence asked, slightly outraged, "Is that what _I_ am meant to sound like?"

"Yes," Temeraire said after a moment, with sheepish defiance. "It is only… when you were dead — when I _thought_ you were dead — I would recite _Principia_ to myself and pretend it was you."

"Oh, my dear," Laurence said sadly, his outrage forgotten. The winter's campaign had left no space in Laurence for anything but his own miseries, but now he could see beyond his own wretchedness, and Temeraire's grief and distress rushed in on him, catching him by surprise. He reached out to stroke Temeraire's nose, and then, that being inadequate to his feeling, he lay himself against said muzzle, embracing Temeraire as well as he might, resting his cheek against his dragon's dark and shining scales, heartbroken for Temeraire's grief. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said, and felt Temerarie's sigh swirl around him. Laurence could not even promise that Temeraire's period of grief was over: Laurence might be imprisoned or hanged in another week. Treason could not be ignored forever.

"I'm here now," Laurence said, at a loss for more comforting words.

"And I shan't let them take you away again," Temeraire said fiercely, as he had said all through the winter's campaign, to any admiral, general, or dragon who would listen. "Even if you would rather surrender yourself, I shan't let you. You can't be happy at all when you're dead, so being a little bit happier before makes no difference."

It was a shining example of Temeraire's peculiar style of logic that Laurence found so difficult to argue against. "Let us not speak of it now," he said, stroking Temeraire's nose. "Shall I read to you more, or is it no good in English?"

"Tell me of the comet," Temeraire said.

Laurence dutifully found the page. "Shall I read you the tables, as well?"

"Yes," Temeraire answered, and Laurence resigned himself to reading out the detailed astronomical observations of Halley, Flamsted, and Pound: a small enough service for his dragon's comfort.

"Eighteen thirty-five," Temeraire murmured to himself a long while later, well after Laurence thought that the lists of times, latitudes, and longitudes had surely lulled his companion to slumber.

"Eighteen thirty-five what, my dear?" Laurence asked.

"Eighteen thirty-five is when we'll see the comet," Temeraire answered in contented certainty. "You and I, just like this, together."

Laurence stroked that soft and sleek nose, and for just a moment, let himself hope it might be true.

"A fine sight it will be, I am sure," he said quietly, and turned the page to read aloud Newton's opinions of a comet's tail.


End file.
